The Branches of Time

by Luca Rossi

  Lil replied with an insistence she swiftly regretted: “But why do you have to be so tired? I don't think you've slept in days!”

  “There are lots of things I need to do. But your energy grows stronger every day, so soon I'll have the help I need.”

  “Priestess, I'm so sorry! I really wish I could do more right now. I can't bear seeing you so worn out.”

  “You're so sweet.”

  Miril hugged Lil, who placed her head on the woman's shoulder, breathing in the intense fragrance of her hair. The embrace was reassuring. When Lil lifted her head again, she looked the priestess in the eyes. Miril's gaze was gentle, Lil's was still slightly concerned.

  The young woman became aware of a feeling she had never felt before. She was attracted to that face, to that woman, to that soul and to that energy. She felt herself getting lost in the kindness of her gaze. She closed her own eyes, as if she felt she couldn't handle such an intense emotion. An abnormal vibration traveled through her, and Lil worried Miril would notice it. She wanted to move even closer to those lips, but she felt the woman's hands tense up.

  What am I doing? Lil asked herself, opening her eyes. The priestess, frightened, was glaring at her as if she were a monster. Lil's heart started to race. What did I do? Where did I go wrong?

  “I didn't...I...Forgive me. What did I do? I'm sorry! Forgive me, please, priestess,” she babbled.

  “No, no. Lil, you didn't do anything. It's just that, for a few seconds, I saw you vanish.”

  “Vanish? What do you mean?”

  “For a fraction of a second, your body appeared to become transparent!”

  Oh, that poor woman, Lil sympathized. “Miril, I'm sorry. You're far too tired. You can't go on like this, you'll get sick,” she said, almost whimpering, taking her hands. “Please, priestess, you need to rest.”

  “No, it's not because of fatigue. It's already happened once before, but at that time, we had spent so many hours performing the rituals that I thought it was just due to weakness. Besides, we weren't standing as close together then as we are now, so I really only noticed it out of the corner of my eye. But this time...this time you were right in front of me. And the walls of the Temple, the columns, the mosaics, nothing else lost its consistency. Only you.”

  “Miril, what are you saying? I didn't notice a thing. I didn't feel any drop in energy. Actually, when I closed my eyes, I felt warmth and...attraction,” Lil admitted, looking at the floor.

  “Lil, I know what I'm talking about. I need to go to the library and find an explanation for what just happened. And perhaps it'll also explain where the cadavers have all disappeared to.”

  33

  “There is an ancient legend, an epic poem that tells of a people who go to a funeral, during which the body of the dead man disappears. Then, even the bodies of the living begin to experience flashes of transparency which, over the years, become increasingly frequent, until the people begin to vanish entirely. The poem ends with this sentence: and the dry branch of time fell from the tree.”

  Bashinoir and Lil silently listened to the explanations of Miril, who had spent the entire day in the library, only emerging a few moments before dinner. She had told Lil what she had found out after so many hours of reading, and the young woman had begged her to also let Bashinoir participate in the discussion.

  “I'm afraid,” Miril continued, “that somehow the course of history has been changed, and that, now, we find ourselves on a dry branch.”

  Lil and Bashinoir struggled to wrap their minds around these ideas.

  “This would explain why the cadavers disappeared. Since they have lower frequencies than living beings, they simply vanished, as on the new branch of time, they never existed. And, slowly, that's also what's happening to us. We're starting to disappear, because in theory, we've never existed.”

  Lil and Bashinoir involuntarily looked at one another, as if wanting to make sure they were both still present.

  Bashinoir shyly allowed himself to comment: “I haven't noticed any disappearing going on here. Not even for a few seconds.”

  Miril tried to find the right words in order to avoid offending him. “At first only a well-trained eye is able to see it, but soon, the phenomenon becomes obvious to anyone and everyone.”

  Lil spoke up: “Priestess, could it perhaps be explained by the fact that, among the three of us, you're under the most stress? You carry the weight of the rituals almost entirely upon your own shoulders, since I'm still only able to do so little. Maybe -”

  “Lil, believe me. I clearly saw what happened. And it's not because of fatigue. You were in front of me. Your face was a few inches away from mine and, through it, I saw the mosaics behind you. We can't attribute this simply to exhaustion.”

  Why were they so close to each other? Bashinoir wondered. An unpleasant sensation darted through him before he could repress it.

  “Lil, Bashinoir, you have to imagine time not as a straight line leading from the past to the future, but as a living organism. Think of a plant – a bush, for example. There can be many temporal lines. But only one of them, only one particular branch, takes on the characteristics of reality.”

  “So what are the other branches, then?”

  “They're possibilities. Events caused by other events which, however, don't have enough strength, or enough lymph, to transform into reality. At a certain point, these branches grow dry and fall off. And then only one temporal line is left.”

  “Then we should be on that line of time, right?” Lil asked.

  “We were. I think that a new temporal line actually became stronger than our own. And on that new branch, our presence does not belong on this island, or we may not even exist at all, for that matter.”

  “I...I don't understand. How could things just change like this, all of a sudden?”

  “It's hard to say for sure. We can only guess. I think that, in the past, a change was made so that our people never reached this island, in which case, we're no longer here,” Miril explained, trying to find the simplest words that would be easier for them to understand.

  Lil struggled to understand the complex matter at hand. Bashinoir wondered if Miril, due to all the stress she was under, was perhaps starting to lose it. “But what could have changed the past? Everything in the past has already happened. Nobody and nothing can do anything about it,” he tried to object.

  Miril thought for a moment. “That's not entirely true. Our sacred texts are rather clear in saying that it's possible to change the past.”

  “How in the world is that possible?” Lil objected, now alarmed.

  “Through time travel.”

  “Time travel?” Bashinoir and Lil asked in unison.

  They're not ready to understand. Maybe I shouldn't have even tried to explain this.

  “Lil, Bashinoir: imagine that you're at a particular moment of the past. If you eliminate a future mother, she won't give birth to her baby, who won't be able to have their own children. With your action, you would have changed the course of time. Time would try to reabsorb this change, but if that baby was destined to become a king or change the course of history, a new branch of time would probably have to develop. If the effects of temporal changes are too major to be reabsorbed, the new branch becomes stronger than the main branch, which then dries up and falls off.”

  “I don't understand!” Lil groaned. “Who could possibly go around making those sorts of changes?”

  “Perhaps the same people responsible for the rock shards that rained down upon this island. Our rituals ensure the protection of the Temple and the island. Physically, nobody can hurt us, because we sustain a barrier that is impossible for them to get through. They could have, however, modified the past in order to give us the coup de grace, relying upon our inability to fight against their magical offense.” And they were probably right.

  34

  Bashinoir wasn't convinced. He slept poorly, unable to rest: the words of priestess Miril continuously hammered throug
h his dreams and thoughts all night long. Time travel, transparency, time as a living being, the dry branches: none of this made any sense. Has the priestess gone crazy?

  For weeks, he had anxiously waited for her to provide an explanation for the deathly shower of rock shards and, finally, she came out with a theory as wacky as it was improbable.

  Bashinoir was certain he hadn't noticed anything unusual about the consistency of their bodies. After that discussion, his doubts had not only remained unsolved, but now dominated everything else in his mind.

  He had gotten up before dawn, eating a meager breakfast. On his way out, he hastily bade Lil and Miril good morning.

  He naturally avoided the stables, where he should have performed the necessary work. He immediately chose the path that led through the woods, not without looking over his shoulder several times to make sure neither of the two women had come out of the Temple to get a breath of fresh air.

  Once on the beach, Bashinoir enjoyed the morning sun for a few hours, trying in vain to erase the priestess's words from his mind.

  He thought about the shadow. Whenever it came to keep him company, he always felt that he regained the peace and serenity he had lost, as if it recharged his energy needed to go onwards.

  Their relationship was growing. The sensations were becoming increasingly palpable. But it's a shadow that bobs around underwater! Bashinoir was afraid it was just a product of his own mind. What if it didn't exist? Maybe the only reason I see it is because I feel so lonely. There's nobody left, besides her. Yet, after all the doubts raised by the conversation from the night before, he felt he desperately needed that contact tonight.

  He walked along the beach, heading North. Although he was still several hundred feet away, he began to feel its presence. This doesn't make sense. It's all a figment of my imagination. I'm deluding myself to think that this thing can communicate with me. It doesn't even exist. Just coming closer to it, however, helped him feel better.

  Once he reached their usual meeting place, he sat down on the beach, a few feet away from her. The sea was calm. Following the rhythm of the waves, the shadow rose and fell placidly.

  Bashinoir closed his eyelids. Breaking through the crisp morning air, the sunshine warmed his face as the singing of the birds gently comforted him. The presence of the shadow was so allaying that it melted away his doubts, anxieties, tensions, and fears. Finally, he was at peace with himself.

  Bashinoir, can you feel me?

  Astonished, he opened his eyes again: only the shadow was there, in front of him, bobbing along with the water. In fact, he was sure that he hadn't heard anything, but that he had felt those words inside of him.

  No, that's impossible! The desire to get up and walk away quickly overrode the confusion of emotions that washed through him. It's nothing but an illusion!

  As he was about to stand back up, he noticed how low the sun still was on the horizon. How am I going to spend the rest of the day? The idea of going back to wander through the woods, at the mercy of all kinds of anxieties, didn't appeal to him. Those words are just the product of my own mind. I'm okay here, there's nothing wrong.

  He again closed his eyes. A gust of icy wind blew against his face.

  Don't be afraid.

  He had heard it, this time there was no question about it. The three words had distinctly echoed through his head. He opened his eyes, looking around. He carefully observed the shadow. I shouldn't be afraid? The idea that it could not only transmit sensations, but now words, piqued his curiosity. He decided to close his eyes again and relax.

  I'm here with you.

  Fear and relief: someone or something was communicating with him. It was a shadow. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe it was just an illusion; but it would be so nice to finally be able to open his heart to another creature.

  “Who are you?” he asked aloud. Talking to himself made him feel awkward, but a reply arose almost immediately in his mind.

  I'm your friend.

  “My friend?”

  I sensed your suffering from very far away and I felt I couldn't just leave you alone.

  Bashinoir's heart rejoiced. He continued repeating to himself that this was probably all in his head, that none of this was real, but he decided he couldn't just stop there, whether or not it was an illusion.

  “Well, you got that right. I feel very alone. Terrible things have happened on this island.”

  I'm only able to sense your presence.

  “Here, right now, it's just me, but really I live with two women, who are almost always in the Temple. I'm the only person who can go out around the island.”

  Why are there only three of you?

  “Everyone else who lived on this island is now...dead.”

  The shadow, kindly and tactfully, continued to ask him all sorts of questions, which Bashinoir, eager to confide in someone, readily answered.

  Towards the end of one of his explanations, Bashinoir paused, uncertain of what to say next.

  What is it? What's bothering you?

  “Well, last night, the priestess told us some of her hypotheses. They were rather odd. She thinks...” and Bashinoir recounted what he had retained after hearing Miril's theories.

  I'm sorry but I have to go now. I'll come back to see you soon, but I can't stay now.

  “Wait! Tell me what you are!”

  I will. Later. I promise. I'll be back soon and I'll answer any questions you have for me. See you then.

  Bashinoir stared as the shadow darted away through the water.

  35

  Gazing at herself in the mirror, Aleia delighted in how beautiful she looked. She carefully examined every corner of her face, looking for changes or signs of aging. It seemed as if any potential wrinkles were under control, thanks in part to the herbal wraps the masters prepared for her. Satisfied, she smiled at her reflection, while the brush, moved by Nuris' expert hand, trailed through her auburn hair.

  She looked up at the young woman, one of the many wives of Beanor who took turns waiting on her. There was only one woman in the palace who had the privilege of being served by the other wives. And that was her. The others had to content themselves with regular servants. Such an arrangement had made it very clear to the other wives that they were to defer to her, whenever they found themselves in her presence.

  Her hair was perfect: soft, long, vividly red, just how the monarch liked it. There was a time when all it took was a slight movement of that mane to capture every speck of the king's attention and bewitch his body, after which he would fall helplessly at her feet. There was a time...before Beanor's bedroom was regularly invaded by younger consorts, women whom she herself had to teach to conform to all of the royal preferences and requirements. Almost all of them, she smiled to herself. There were a few secrets she kept to herself, as she would remain the only woman able to fulfill every one of his desires.

  Zilia, another wife, was meticulously following the instructions Aleia had given her for her makeup. Two shadows trailed from the end of Aleia's eyes which, from the black of her eyelashes, blended into a scarlet red that tapered gradually towards her temples. No other wife in the palace was able to pull off such sophisticated makeup or, perhaps, none other dared to challenge her in this field. In either case, the latest proof of her supremacy pleased her immensely.

  Aleia adjusted her bosom, pushing her breasts up towards the generous neckline that framed them.

  Her long dress, a dark red color with black embroidery, perfectly matched the colors of her makeup and hair. No wardrobe, not even that of her crude husband, was comparable to hers.

  Aleia was absolutely satisfied with her morning preparations. Zilia and Nuris had perfectly fulfilled their duties. During the day, she would reward them with special kindness.

  Towards them, as towards any other wife, Aleia felt not just the simple desire to dominate them, but also an acute sense of duty and responsibility. Without the hierarchy she imposed upon them, with her rules and through her command, chaos
would have broken out among the king's wives, and he would not have been the least bit pleased with that.

  “You may go,” she told the two consorts, giving them a polite smile.

  Before the door closed completely, Aleia assigned them one last task: “Oh...and send me the new girl. That maid.”

  Although the king promoted women from the most disparate social classes to the rank of wife, this didn't mean that the first wife had any respect for them. As long as the new wife remained a regular underneath the royal sheets, she would find it difficult to gain acceptance from the other consorts. When the king, however, felt the need to switch his focus to another from his harem, the latest arrival, already in a tenuous position, would timidly begin to reach out and establish contact with the others. But only Aleia had the power to decide when she could truly come out of isolation. No spouse would have dared to extend a friendly welcome to any woman who the first wife had not yet officially accepted.

  A knock on the door, followed by a request in an unusually high and confident voice, distracted her from her thoughts: “May I come in?”

  “Of course! Please, make yourself comfortable!” Aleia invited her, leaving her dressing table and heading to the parlor.

  Milia sat in front of her, looking her brazenly in the eye. Her smooth, blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a dense, direct blue that candidly burst forth. She sat up straight, her legs together, her hands resting on her knees, her young and slender arms closed in a white tunic.

  Aleia hated that impudent presence. Smiling cordially, she rang a little bell. Milia instinctively moved, as if she wanted to run away. Aleia acknowledged the young woman's involuntary reaction with a smug smile. As soon as a hidden door behind a column opened, Aleia commented: “Oh, here's my servant.”

  She ordered an herbal tea for both of them, without asking the girl which flavor she preferred. In the blink of an eye, the servant came back with the steaming beverages. Aleia waited until she was alone with the young wife before breaking the silence. She took a certain pleasure in the awkward pause, even if the girl's cheeky stare led her to believe there was much work to be done.